


Forever is Much too Short

by unremarkablegirl



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Ficlet, Light Angst, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unremarkablegirl/pseuds/unremarkablegirl
Summary: It’s as Nicky’s shooting down one of the stragglers making a move for Andy that he realizes he hasn’t seen Joe. His heart, steady from years of sniper training, kicks up a notch. He forces himself to calm down, knows that Joe is alright—he has to be. He turns, focuses on his job, clears out the rest with Booker at his side.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58





	Forever is Much too Short

They are in the middle of battle when it happens. They are in some southern state, some Kansas or maybe Arkansas, fighting a group of neo-nazis. Unrefined though they may be, they are brutal and seem to have a penchant for heavy bats and other melee weapons. 

It’s been a while since Nicky’s been able to let loose, forget himself in the crush of bone, their names—ulna, femur, fibula—running through his mind as he hits, hard and fast. It’s been a while, he’s forgotten what it’s like not to have a bird’s eye view, to not be able to pick out his teammates, following them down his sights, watching their backs. 

His eyes dart around, looking for the others when he feels it, a machete to the back—right, focus. He drops with the weight, lets his opponents momentum roll them around as he settles on top and snaps his neck. 

It’s as he’s reaching behind himself for the machete when he turns and sees Joe go down. He’s not worried, he knows Joe can handle himself, knows he’ll be on his feet soon enough. He’s more worried for Nile, her skin marking her as prime target here. He turns, machete in hand—finder’s keepers—and soldiers on, adjusting to the weighting of the blade and cutting down opponents. 

He loses himself in the adrenaline, moving and twisting, losing the blade along the way as well. Instead, he picks up a bat, crude thing that it is with nails hammered in, and continues on before finding a gun. 

It’s as Nicky’s shooting down one of the stragglers making a move for Andy that he realizes he hasn’t seen Joe. His heart, steady from years of sniper training, kicks up a notch. He forces himself to calm down, knows that Joe is alright—he has to be. He turns, focuses on his job, clears out the rest with Booker at his side. 

Andy and Nile join them soon after, making their way through the field. No amount of training can calm his heart, he can’t remember the last time it’s beat this fast, he feels as though he can’t get enough air, he is panicking, he needs Joe. He needs Joe. Where is he? 

A nudge at his side stops his frantic eyes, his head turns, Booker’s eyes are heavy as he stares back at him before he turns his head, ever so slowly, and there. Joe is in the ground, his hideous orange shirt a marker, a beacon. 

Just seconds ago, his mind had been frenetic, wild, distressed. It is blank now, there is a buzzing sound filling his ears. He pays it no mind as the gun slips from his grasp and he finds himself running to Joe’s side. He crashes to his knees, absently notes that the others hadn’t followed him, doesn’t care. His hands flutter, useless, as he takes in his love, stretched out on his side, a knife slipped between his ribs. Why didn’t he take it out? Why isn’t he healing? Is he? 

His hands, normally so steady, tremble as they reach out. They land, whisper soft, on Joe’s arm and hip. He stays there, gathers himself, takes a deep breath, strengthens his hold and rolls Joe onto his back. He, he looks bad, but as he looks up at Nicky, he smiles, a sliver of sunshine on a bloodied face. 

Nicky can’t help but choke on his next breath. His hands come up to cradle his love’s face, heedless of the blood, tries to gather that sunshine into his hands, fails. His grip tightens, his forehead pressed against his everything, his body poised for supplication as a prayer slips from his mouth.

_“Yusuf.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi/prompt me on [tumblr](https://unremarkablegirl.tumblr.com) :)


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